Tiger Lily and Cyclamen
by MissTempleton
Summary: Lin Chung comes to Phryne with an apparently insoluble mystery. The truth can be stranger than fiction and in this case, the fiction is based in a true story - very loosely!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"Good morning, ma'am"

"Is it, Mr Butler? In that case, I think one of us is in the wrong place at the wrong time, because I could have sworn you promised you wouldn't be disturbing me until the sun was well over the yardarm. We had a deal – you wouldn't wait up for Inspector Robinson and I to come back from the hospital fundraiser ball last night, and we would sneak in like mice and not disturb you either, as long as I could sleep on. Jack may be able to function usefully on less than eight hours' sleep, but I am not thus blessed."

"I'm very sorry, Miss Fisher," her factotum was at his most sympathetic, but the use of her professional name alerted her to the possible reason for his otherwise unacceptable lapse.

"Mr Lin telephoned yesterday evening, and asked if he might be able to take you for lunch today."

The Honourable Phryne Fisher thrashed inelegantly into an upright position and glared at him.

"I do hope you refused him and offered him afternoon tea or dinner instead?"

"He explained, Miss, that the matter was not something which would keep."

He coughed, self-deprecatingly.

"His original suggestion was that he join you for breakfast, Miss. I hope I was right in postponing the appointment a little."

Phryne slammed back onto her pillows and closed her eyes in resignation.

"You did, as always, precisely the right thing Mr B. If you can possibly start a bath for me, I can take it from here." And thought for the thousandth time that she needed a new maid, given that her last one was now somewhat inconveniently raised to the level of business partner. Mr Butler was increasingly unshockable but he really shouldn't have to suffer the sight of the lady of the house in her Undress.

The coffee he had brought to the bedside was, however … medicinal. And he'd presumed to add the jasmine oil to the bath water. If he ever struggled to find work as a butler, she reflected, he could definitely muddle through as a lady's maid.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Phryne Fisher loved Jack Robinson. It had taken her quite a long time to acknowledge the fact, and one of the barriers had been the man standing waiting for her at the foot of her stairs.

She didn't love Lin Chung; but their minds had met, and danced very beautifully together on many occasions. Their bodies had, too, almost as often. The only thing Lin hadn't done was risk his heart for her. The only man to do that had been Jack Robinson.

She knew, however, that Lin would not use the word "urgent" unless he meant it – if anything, it would probably be an understatement. She therefore presented herself after only half an hour, bathed, dressed and ready for whatever culinary extravagance he might cast her way. He stood as she descended the stairs, and gazed appreciatively at the picture she made in a dress constructed from his own silk. He bowed over her hand in courtly fashion, but did not immediately move to the front door.

Casting her eyes around the parlour, she caught sight of an unusual addition to the furnishings. On the low table was an octagonal, covered vase of breathtaking beauty. Each of the sides was patterned with flowers and birds, delicately picked out in luminous red, green and gold. Lin watched as she approached it, and without touching it, admired it from slightly flared base to lion finial. Eventually, she looked up at him quizzically.

"Am I, perchance, looking at a clue to your "urgent" problem, Lin dear?"

"You are looking at the whole of the problem, Silver Lady," he confirmed.

Mr Butler came back into the room with a plain glass vase containing a small bouquet.

"I've done my best, sir, but I'm afraid they're not long for this world," he apologised.

"Thank you, Mr Butler – I must say, that seems apt," said the younger man. "Let us go and have lunch, Phryne, and I shall explain. Could I perhaps ask that the vase remain here? Though not, perhaps, in plain sight?"

"What do you think, Mr B? Do we have a quiet corner in which this lovely thing might sit?" asked Phryne. "Though I must say, it seems a shame."

Mr Butler undertook to find a suitable storage space, and Phryne allowed herself to be escorted to Lin Chung's waiting car. Conversation on the journey to the Windsor Hotel was limited to matter suitable for the chauffeur's ears, and it was not until they were tucking into tender lobster meat, accompanied by perfectly chilled champagne, that the subject of their meeting was broached.

"The vase, Lin?"

He dabbed his mouth delicately with a napkin and pushed his chair back a little.

"The vase, and the bouquet of flowers, were left in the See Yup Temple at some point yesterday afternoon. No-one saw who left it."

"Odd," remarked Phryne. "A gift of some kind?"

"Not as such, I am afraid – more of a headache," replied Lin. "The vase is, as you saw, very beautiful. Its contents, however, are not."

"Don't tell me there are ashes in it?" exclaimed Phryne in a shocked whisper. He nodded. "Human ashes?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, but it seems likely."

"Why did they bring them to you, Lin? You're not associated with the See Yup particularly, are you?"

"No, my family is Christian," he confirmed. "It is, in fact, you that the trustees wish to consult."

"My fame goes before me," she said, not entirely happily. "And so they came to you to approach me?"

"They did. You see, the difficulty is that they cannot do anything with these ashes."

"Why ever not?" she asked. "Don't they have a nice shelf somewhere they could put it?"

"The memorials at the See Yup Temple are not urns of ashes, Phryne – they are wooden tablets, painted with the names of those who have died. The Society doesn't even know the name of the person whose ashes are in the vase."

"Yes, what of the vase? It's beautiful. Is it valuable?"

"I believe it to be of the Qing dynasty," he said. "It is probably worth thousands, if not tens of thousands of pounds."

"Lawks," said Phryne inelegantly. "I see the problem. They can't ignore it, and they can't dispose of it, but it's hugely valuable. What do they think I can do?"

"They are hoping that you will be able to find out the identity of the deceased, so that arrangements can be made for appropriate disposal of the ashes."

Phryne pondered for a moment, twisting her champagne glass on its base.

"I don't suppose the person who left it also left a note?" she asked plaintively.

"No, just the vase, and the small bouquet of flowers which are themselves already dying," he apologised.

She debated, and decided.

"We will take the case, Lin, but it appears almost impossible and the fee will be steep."

She named a figure at which he failed to blink. But then, Inscrutable had always been one of Lin's strong suits.

They drank coffee – The Windsor knew how to make coffee – and Miss Fisher then permitted Mr Lin to take her home, where she thought quite hard for quite a long time. She had, however, made the mistake of doing her thinking on a comfortable chair in the shade of her sunlit garden, and only woke when the Inspector gently kissed her cheek.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Mr Robinson sat back in his chair and reviewed Mrs Robinson as she swirled the remaining wine in her glass. Dinner had been delicious and the company rewarding, but he knew his Phryne.

"Something's got your attention. Can I ask what it is?"

She blinked, met his eye and smiled.

"Truth's stranger than fiction, Jack – and yes, there's no secret about what happened yesterday in a reasonably public place, so I'm not breaching any confidences if I tell you."

"Go on?" He leaned his forearms on the table. In general, one of the most edifying things about any case was Miss Fisher's take on it.

"I had lunch with Lin Chung today."

"That in itself surprises me because when I left you this morning, you weren't planning on experiencing any more of the morning than was strictly necessary, and Mr Butler was in on the idea."

She smiled wryly. "It was an emergency, as it turned out. Lin had apparently requested breakfast, and Mr B thankfully managed to dissuade him. But the story's extraordinary, Jack."

She outlined Lin's dilemma, and then lapsed into silence, which Jack didn't rush to fill; instead, he rested one elbow on the table and pulled at his lower lip pensively.

"What have you got to go on? Let's talk it through."

She sat up and grimaced a little.

"The vase. The flowers. The place they were left. That's it, isn't it?"

He agreed. "You may be able to add in – the day they were left and the person who found them – but yes, that's the essence of it so far. The vase must be a good start, though?"

"Oh, definitely. If it's as valuable as Lin thinks, it's extraordinary that someone would simply leave it lying around in a semi-public place like the temple."

By unspoken consent, they pushed back their chairs and wandered through to the parlour, where Mr Butler had set the whisky and glasses ready. There, on the table was the rather sorrowful bunch of flowers in its plain container.

"They're not as pretty as the vase they were accompanying," remarked Phryne. "I'm not even sure what they all are. Lily – and that's lilac. Geranium seems a bit odd in a funeral bouquet, if that's what it's meant to be."

"Is there perhaps a note in the names of the flowers?" Jack added.

Phryne looked up, electrified.

"Of course! Jack, I'm an idiot. I can only blame the lack of sleep. I need to take this bunch to Dot first thing in the morning."

"While I'm happy to have been of help, Miss Fisher, can I just point out that it has been rather a long day?" His yawn, though involuntary, underlined his argument.

Miss Fisher instantly transformed into the Ministering Angel which was Mrs Robinson, and if he hadn't forcibly restrained her enthusiasm, would have started undressing him for bed there and then.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

It was the faintest tinkling of glass, heard through the window open to let in the cool night air, which woke Phryne.

"Jack?" she whispered.

"Yes. Downstairs. Taking my gun," was the only shorthand needed for one who was equally instantly alert.

They rolled out of bed. Jack pulled on his canvas shoes and robe. Phryne made do with dragging her robe off its hanger on the way past, which meant she was out of the room and onto the stairs first, padding down in bare feet and slipping arms in as she descended. Jack cursed inwardly, and then admired her work. If only his men had the same ability to blend with the shadows.

At the foot of the stairs, they both paused; then Phryne touched the back of Jack's hand and he followed the line of her gesture in the moonlight reflecting through the fanlight over the front door.

The parlour door, closed when they retired for the night, was slightly ajar.

Jack took the lead this time, and moved to push it gently open, blessing Mr Butler's fastidiousness in keeping it well oiled (how else, after all, could he appear silently with more cocktails?).

A slight, black-clad figure was slowly working around the edge of the room. Jack pushed the door a little further, and edged through it.

They would both have been prepared to swear that he had made no sound in doing so; but the intruder's attention snapped to the door. Like lightning, he dove head first towards them over the couch, leaving Jack's revolver shot to pass harmlessly over him. He rolled, and in the process of regaining his feet, was dashing for the door. Phryne, spotting his approach, pushed it inwards towards him but found the assailant grasping his hand over hers on to the knob of the door itself, pivoting her helplessly into Jack, with a hand under her shoulder blade – the instant the assailant released his hand from hers, she stumbled and fell. Then the door slammed, and when Jack leaped to open it, he found it would not open, though the key was on the inside.

The front door was heard to open, and the gentle patter of plimsolled feet disappeared into the night.

They ran to the window, but nothing was to be seen. There was, however, plenty to be heard. The curses from both sleuths were colourful and violent, and interrupted only by the observance of a beam of light appearing under the sealed door.

"Inspector? Miss Fisher?" called Mr Butler.

"Thank you, Mr Butler, please lock the front door first, and then release us in whatever manner is required," called Jack.

After a short pause, the double doors opened.

"How on earth ….?" Jack muttered.

"Ingenious, sir, I have to say," commented Mr B. He was holding a thick leather lace, around eighteen inches long. At each end was a lead weight.

"It was wound around the two door knobs, sir. Must have taken less than a second to secure it." He demonstrated the rapidity of the swinging motion that wrapped his forearm tightly.

Phryne grimaced. "It wouldn't hold for long, but we weren't expecting it, so we didn't know what had happened. A few seconds was all he needed, and he got them." She held out her hand for the weapon that Mr Butler had unwound again. "You could use it on a person too. I do hate it when someone comes up with a weapon more elegant than the one I'm using."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "From where I'm standing, Miss Fisher, you're the most elegant weapon in the southern hemisphere, although Mr B might want to avert his eyes until you've retied your robe."

She did so hastily and asked Mr Butler where the vase was.

"I know he didn't get it, Mr B – but where have you put it?"

He led them through to the kitchen, where the door was showing the signs of a very neat forced entrance – one pane punched out of the glass, to land on a paper pushed under the door. Both Jack and Phryne thanked their stars that they had slept lightly enough to hear the slight noise that would have been created.

Mr Butler then led them on to the pantry, where the rows of jars were set out tidily. Flour, Sugar, Oatmeal, Rice, Currants, Ashes of Unknown Deceased Person, Dessicated Coconut.

"In plain sight has always worked best for me, Miss," he explained.

She thanked him, but they decided that the vase would spend the rest of the night in Jack and Phryne's room (Jack still called it her boudoir). Between them, Jack and Mr Butler secured the back door and the household retired for what remained of the night.

On her way back upstairs, Phryne suddenly thought of Jane, but her adoptive daughter's ability to sleep through anything possibly up to and including the Last Trump had once more been evidenced. A career in medicine, Phryne thought, was indicated strongly.

Jack, on the other hand, sighed for the previously quiet life City South had been expecting later that morning.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"And these are the flowers, Miss?"

Dorothy's brow furrowed as she teased over the sorrowful heads of the bouquet whose stems Mr Butler had carefully wrapped in damp tissue paper.

"I was wondering whether perhaps the initial letters might spell something out?" offered Phryne hopefully.

"Perhaps … said Dot doubtfully. "But I haven't got any vowels. Lilies – tiger lilies, actually – white lilac, cyclamen – so pretty – geranium. Not sure about this one – looks a bit like a fuschia, but it's the wrong colour."

"Can I help, Mrs Collins?" Evangeline Stubbs had entered the kitchen, having apparently successfully stowed both of the Collins offspring somewhere safe.

Dot turned readily to her home help. "Can you, Miss Stubbs? How are you on flowers?"

"Oh, I _love_ flowers!" exclaimed Evangeline, eyes brightening.

Phryne's expression was almost unchanged. She did rather wonder, though, how Dot managed to cope with such enthusiasm every day, at an hour when a reasonable person would only have been contemplating a second cup of coffee rather than a meaningful conversation.

Miss Stubbs, though, was delicately examining the flowers. "It's not fuschia, Mrs Collins – it's bittersweet. Truth."

"Well, of course," said Phryne kindly. Miss Stubbs might not be the most challenging intellect in the world, but no-one thought her a liar. The girl looked up at her and giggled.

"No, no, that's what it means. Truth. Bittersweet stands for truth. So, if you give someone rosemary and bittersweet, you're saying you're remembering everything about them." She giggled again. "Like an elephant."

Dot was slightly wrongfooted by the association, but Phryne had a spark of inspiration.

"Do all of these flowers have meaning, Miss Stubbs?"

"Oh yes, Mrs Robinson," replied the home help artlessly. "The lilac is for innocence, and geraniums mean folly. The lilies are tiger lilies, so they stand for wealth, or pride. And the cyclamen – well, that's a strange one, let me see if I can remember. It's a kind of goodbye, but it's not _goodbye_ , as in, God Be With You – it's more _dismissive_ I suppose." She sat back and shook her head. "A funny bunch of flowers to put together, anyway. I don't think I'd be very pleased if someone gave them to me!"

She went to the sink to put the kettle on; clearly the matter was at an end as far as she was concerned. Dot and Phryne exchanged glances.

"I think Mrs Robinson and I need to go out, Miss Stubbs," said Dot carefully. "Will you be all right? I should be back by tea time."

"Right as rain, Mrs Collins – the darling children will be ready for lunch when they wake up from nap time, and then we can go and have a lovely walk to the park."

Phryne assumed her jolliest smile at all this talk of childcare, and escaped. Elegantly. At a brisk walk. Anyone who called it a sprint was … exaggerating.

 _Congratulations, Phryne Fisher. Motherhood, you think? Bitten off more than even you can reasonably chew._

 _It's a challenge. That's all. Jack said so. I said I could do it._

 _As your Scottish great-great-grandmother would say, Aye, Right._

Miss Williams met Miss Fisher at the car, at which point the handbrake was still engaged, but it was a close call.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"Collins, I want to know every person, or every group of people, who knew that there was a valuable vase being stored at my residence last night."

"Yes, sir. Sorry sir, what vase …?"

Jack let his anger (definitely not panic) recede and laid out the facts more calmly; he also built in the possibility that Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson had not in any way been a factor in the previous night's attempted burglary at 221B The Esplanade; and The Honourable Phryne Fisher had been, in the traditional fashion, the Cause of the Problem.

Not being to blame didn't make him feel any better, though. Miss Fisher might be accustomed to uninvited guests at 221B, but no-one had ever broken in to Jack's house before and he really, really didn't like it.

"We need to speak to Mr Lin. Whoever drove him. And whoever gave him the vase to transport to Miss Fisher. It's a small group, one of those people will know who it was that broke into the house last night."

Constable Collins was sympathetic, as anyone would be whose front door had once been used for target practice by a gunman. Mr Lin's availability for interview was established, the car brought round and the incandescent Detective Inspector decanted into it.

When he was informed of the break-in, Lin's expression changed from polite interest to immutable granite. His apology was formal, and his approach practical.

"You will want to speak to my chauffeur, but he has been with me since my return from University, so he seems an unlikely candidate. The Trustees of the See Yup Temple are, I would think, also unlikely suspects, but you will wish to know of any persons to whom they spoke. I discussed the matter with my grandmother before approaching Miss Fisher, but your intruder appears to have been much more agile than she."

"Tell me about the Trustees?" Jack requested.

"They own the land on which the Temple is built – six separate, but adjacent plots."

"A heavy responsibility, I would think."

"Indeed – although the Society is well organised. But each man already has responsibility for his own family. And ..." he smiled wryly, "we are accustomed to working hard."

Even with Lin's help, though, the interviews were unrewarding. It was to be expected that these very responsible gentlemen had kept their counsel, and that was exactly what had happened. No-one had said anything to anyone not immediately party to the event.

"I'm sorry, Jack," said Lin as they collapsed into the back seat of the car and Collins drove them to the station; the delicate process of extracting from six senior members of Melbourne's Chinese community the information that they genuinely knew nothing about the attempted robbery had drained both men to the point that first names were a necessity, not a nicety.

"Lin," said Jack, because although he was well aware he wasn't using Mr Lin's first name, he was using the name Phryne used, and that was good enough, "I'm just glad you gave me your time. The outcome would have been the same, but I would still have been sitting in conversation over what is quite possibly the most delicious tea I've ever tasted, seven days hence, and still not found out what we needed to know."

The scene at City South was, however, somewhat distant from the calm Jack would have liked, because Miss Fisher had invaded.

When he, Collins and Lin Chung walked in the door, they saw what was at first glance a heart-warming hive of activity.

On closer inspection, it transpired that the sergeant on the telephone was talking to an auction house. The two junior constables were comparing notes as to antique shops they had visited.

He enquired mildly what new line of enquiry was being pursued, and received a rather hesitant "er, Miss Fisher …" from the desk sergeant.

Meeting no-ones eye, lips thinning, the Inspector strode through the pass-gate and the door of his own office.

The word "Hello" was delivered loudly and cheerfully by the occupant of His Chair at His Desk.

The word "Jack" was delivered with a lot less cheer and a lot more quietly.

The door closed.

It reopened a moment later to allow Miss Williams to leave the room.

Then it closed again. Very, very gently. Then the Inspector's voice was heard. Rather loudly.

The rest of the population of City South decided it was time to go to the pie cart, or at least put the kettle on for a nice, noisy, brew.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

"I came here to try and find you."

"Here I am. Could you perhaps have held off for _a few minutes_ before appropriating my chair, my desk, my office, and my men?"

She tried to charm him. Hell, she'd try anything – not since Gertie's awful car crash had she found herself so drastically wrong-footed.

"Jack, darling … we're sharing a case now. You must see that. While you've been working on the cause of the break-in, I still have to try to find the owner of the vase."

"We've shared cases before, Phryne, but I've generally been allowed to retain command of the men with whom I have worked for years to build respect and rapport." That was a jolt for her; in his office, she was always Miss Fisher. Oddly, it was the new familiarity that cut to the quick.

He couldn't recall having been so angry with her. To reduce everything he and his men stood for to the status of a party in her boudoir?

A small part of his brain told him that he should be try again to have this discussion when he'd had just one proper, uninterrupted sleep; but it was shouted down by the tired, angry part which had endured a complex but successful operation which had resulted in the arrests of three leading members of a drug smuggling gang, but had taken thirty-six straight hours of patient waiting, violent arrest and questioning before he was able to come home to sleep. Then the ball; then the break-in. It was too much to handle in too short a time, and after all, wasn't she supposed to be on his side now?

Jack went to the door of his office and opened it, asking calmly if anyone had found any leads on the Qing vase; and on receiving an affirmative response, stood back to allow the unlucky constable to enter.

Phryne had rediscovered tact, and was leaning against the wall by the window – for all the world as though the light falling through it would render her invisible.

She was rather hoping it might. In any case, she was feeling a little nauseous after the latest interlude, and being out of the sunlight helped.

Jack took _his_ chair and waited for _his_ man to speak.

"A vase of that description was sold at auction two years ago, sir. To a Mr Robert Lloyd."

"Two years ago? Good work, Brown," remarked Jack.

"Thank you, sir," the man relaxed slightly – he should have realised the boss wasn't one to take out his wrath on the wrong person.

"I don't suppose we have an address?"

"Yes, sir." He rattled it off.

"Thank you, Brown, carry on."

The constable scurried away, relieved; Jack stood and went to the door, holding it open politely.

"Miss Fisher?"

Casting him a worried glance, she crept past him to the front desk, where one junior constable and one sergeant were busily marking paperwork in indelible pencil and studiously avoiding interacting with anyone. Lin Chung had weighed up discretion, valour, and his affection for both Mr and Mrs Robinson and decided she would be better able to defend herself if he left.

"Collins?"

The Senior Constable, who had been exchanging notes with his wife, sprang to attention. "Sir."

"Miss Fisher and I will go and interview Mr Lloyd about our respective cases in relation to the Qing vase. I don't wish to alert him unduly at this stage, so we will not need assistance. We will travel in Miss Fisher's car, and I do not expect to return to the station today."

"Yes, sir."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Conversation on the way to the Lloyd residence was non-existent. Jack was too tired to overcome his anger and make an overture, and Phryne didn't want to make matters worse.

Jack drove.

Thinking to remind him that she was still a useful member of society, Phryne leaped out of the car as soon as it stopped and stalked to the front door to yank the bell. There was, however, no response.

"Can I help you?"

She swung round, and saw a man getting up from his work attending to one of the borders of the luxuriant garden.

"I'm sorry – we were looking for Mr Lloyd?" she asked politely.

"Oh, he's not in the house just now. You'll need to come back later," said the gardener. Apparently declaring the matter closed, he turned his back and knelt down once more. A slight grimace accompanying the action was the only hint that perhaps his career might be time-limited.

"Er … how much later?" asked Jack.

"Couldn't say" was the unhelpful response.

The sleuths exchanged glances, and Phryne decided to have one more go.

"These are lovely – what are they?"

A cursory glance was afforded to the shrub she was indicating – delicate pinkish-white flowers emerged from the ends of its branches.

"Lomatia. _Lomatia myricoides_." He straightened up and came to join her in admiration of it. "Long leaved lomatia to you. Here, have a sniff." He guided one of the branches towards her with a gentle hand. She sniffed obediently and smiled at him.

"Delicious," she commented.

He nodded. "One of my favourites. Very forgiving, and very rewarding." He set his hands on his hips and surveyed his workplace. "But then, so much of a garden is."

"Have you worked here long?"

"As long as the Lloyds have been here," he confirmed, his frozen demeanour thawing in face of Phryne's inexorable charm. Jack decided to leave her to it, and took a seat on a nearby bench to simply enjoy the verdant surroundings.

"Oh, is there a Mrs Lloyd? I hadn't realised," remarked Phryne chattily.

The shutters came down again.

"Not any more. She died."

He turned back to his work, the interview apparently over.

They were about to give up and get back into the Hispano when a delivery bicycle came up the drive. The lad riding it saw the occupants of the garden and steered towards them. Hailing the gardener, he shouted cheerily,

"I've got your order, Mr Lloyd – you want it round at the kitchen door?"

The gardener straightened again and called back an affirmative to the lad, who took himself off.

"Mr Lloyd." Jack said quietly. "Any particular reason why you didn't identify yourself to us?"

The old man regarded them woodenly, and sighed.

"You'd better come in."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Jack stood back politely to allow the man to lead the way into the house, and to a study that appeared to be the room in which he mostly lived. He sat at the desk, and gestured Phryne to the only other seat in the room, while Jack propped himself against an ornate wooden cabinet.

Jack performed the introductions and then asked, "You live alone, Mr Lloyd?"

"I do now. My wife died two months ago."

"Of what did she die?" asked Phryne.

"Heart attack. It was the second time – the first, a year or so ago, was milder, but this one was much more severe, and she died instantly."

"And … was cremated?" Jack again.

Lloyd hesitated, then confirmed it.

"I'll need the name of your doctor, then, sir."

Lloyd was startled. "Why on earth?"

"To confirm the cause of death. In relation to a case we are currently investigating. Purely routine, sir."

Muttering, the man dug through a pile of papers until he found a letter on headed notepaper.

"There you are. Lot of nonsense."

"I'm also trying to ascertain the ownership of an antique vase," said Phryne. "I believe you purchased a Qing vase which matches the description two years ago. Do you still have yours?"

"I do not," he said shortly.

"Then is it possible that the vase which was found in the See Yup Temple the other day was, in fact, yours?" asked Phryne directly.

He gave her a fixed look, then, pushed back his chair and went to the window to gaze at his garden.

"The ashes are my wife's, and I finally had the last word; and the word was Sorry."

Phryne's brow furrowed.

"Sorry to your wife?"

"No … sorry to the nameless half-Chinese baby my wife murdered ten years ago." He looked back at her for a moment. "I wouldn't say anything to my wife – we hadn't spoken since it happened."

They hadn't spoken for _ten years_? Differences temporarily forgotten, Jack and Phryne exchanged glances.

"It was she who smothered the child when it was only a few hours old, and told our daughter it had died naturally."

"Where is your daughter now?" asked Phryne.

"She was never well after the birth, and succumbed to a fever within a matter of weeks."

"And the father of the child?" she pressed.

"I never met him. All I knew was that he was Chinese, and that my daughter was in love with him and was having his child. I believe the boy's family was no more happy about the situation than we were; but my wife was simply incandescent. She took Jen – our daughter – up to Bendigo for three months at the end of the pregnancy. I didn't find out until afterwards what she had done to the baby. I couldn't believe it. It may have been half-Chinese, but it was our grandchild."

"But how did she manage to explain the death?" asked Jack.

"The local doctor was no less prejudiced than much of the rest of the population, and agreed to sign the death certificate in exchange for a healthy bribe."

Jack looked disbelieving but Phryne nodded slowly. In the days of her relationship with Lin Chung, just such inter-racial prejudice was commonplace – on both sides. It had been no easier for her to be accepted into his society than for him to be accepted into hers.

"But why put your wife's ashes in a Qing vase in the Temple?"

"First, I wanted rid of her. I made a promise before God to remain married to her, but when she died, I was released from the promise and the relief was indescribable."

"Second, the vase was worth a lot of money. I thought that the temple would be able to dispose of the ashes, but would understand the worth of its container and perhaps be able to benefit the Chinese community in some way – either selling it, or simply enjoying its aesthetic worth. The Temple, with its memorial role, seemed the obvious place."

Phryne piped up, "And the flowers? If they were meant to provide an explanation, I'm afraid they didn't really work."

The sorrow in his response was tangible.

"I don't communicate well in words, Miss Fisher. It's only in my garden that I really feel I understand what's happening around me. So – the white lilac was for the innocence of that child. The lily for our wealth that allowed my wife to dispose of it so conveniently. Geranium is folly. Oh, there were so many reasons I wanted to put geraniums into that bouquet. The folly of our marriage. The folly of our child's youthful dalliance. The folly of our society's assumption that because the Chinese culture was different from ours, it was to be distrusted and rejected."

Phryne smiled understandingly.

"And the bittersweet and cyclamen?"

"The truth that I had hoped only I would know; and the cyclamen that allowed me to bid the wife I had come to loathe a legitimate farewell."

He turned to Jack.

"So now, Inspector, what is the charge I face?"

Phryne ached to jump in, but after the day they'd had, restrained herself.

She needn't have worried.

"Mr Lloyd, ten years ago I would have been agitating about obstructing the course of justice and possibly accessory to murder after the fact. Now? Unless we can miraculously discover the identity of the young man who fathered that child, I would say we tell the Temple to dispose of the ashes of an anonymous Melbourne woman as they see fit, and retain the vase for the benefit of the Temple community."

Phryne added, "I can arrange for the message to be delivered in terms which will not result in any further questions, if you would prefer it."

Lloyd smiled a little, for the first time since they had met him. "Would you? I don't deny I'd be grateful to put the whole sorry saga behind me."

The two sleuths returned to the car, differences temporarily forgotten as they attempted to process all they had learned. Phryne automatically slid behind the wheel, and Jack didn't stop her. Just as she was reaching for the starter, though, she stopped and turned to him.

"Jack, we still don't know who broke in. It certainly wasn't Mr Lloyd."

His eyes were closed, though, and it may have been too great an effort to crank them open _and_ think at the same time, so she left him to it and turned the car's nose for home.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Phryne made it to the door of 221B first and threw it open for Jack to follow through, shrugging off his overcoat and hat as he did so. They were met, though, by a Mr Butler so apologetic that he could scarcely get the words out.

"Sir, I'm sorry – you had a telephone message from Constable Collins. There has been a riot at the docks, and your assistance is requested."

Jack closed his eyes in disbelief. Was there actually a universal conspiracy to ensure that he never, ever got to put his head on a soft, cool pillow again? Resignedly, he lifted his coat back onto his shoulders.

"Jack, let me at least drive you there."

"Miss, Mr Lin is also here, and has been waiting for you for a little while. He has brought a young lady that he would like you to meet."

"Tell them to wait," snapped Phryne. The thought of Jack getting behind the wheel in his current state had her genuinely scared.

"No, Phryne, it's all right," said Jack. "I'll take care of the Hispano, I promise."

"It's not the ruddy car I'm worried about, Jack."

"Or perhaps, Miss, I could drive the Inspector to the docks?" offered Mr Butler. "I'm sure Constable Collins or one of the other officers would be able to drive him home."

Phryne acquiesced, but with firm instructions to the Inspector that the instant he had the situation under control, he was to leave the paperwork to someone else.

"Tell Hugh to take it home and let Dot type it up if you have to, Jack – I owe you some resources anyway," she joked feebly.

He attempted a smile at her which didn't make it to his eyes and preceded Mr B out of the door.

Phryne walked into the parlour, at which point both its occupants rose to their feet.

"This is my niece," said Lin, once the niceties were completed and Phryne had a much-needed martini in hand. "Her name is Lin Soo, and she has been working for my grandmother; but she is struggling to find potatoes as beautiful as silk, and dishwater as enchanting as jasmine soap, and so I hoped you might consider her as a possible replacement for your maid?"

Phryne attempted to meet the girl's eyes, but they were cast modestly down; and the sleuth could never tell afterwards what imp – perhaps one with superb olfactory senses that recalled a delicate and unique scent – prompted her to say,

"I will certainly consider someone who loves beautiful things and is … well trained in the martial arts."

That earned her a swift glance from the girl, and a muttered aside to Lin Chung. He lifted his head in disbelief, and replied to her in the same tongue, before turning to Phryne.

"My niece asks that you give her a year's work, for which she will take no recompense. I find myself wondering why."

Phryne grinned.

"Soo, you have the job. And thank you for introducing me to a remarkable new weapon." She turned to the mantelpiece, on which was resting the weighted leather thong.

This earned her a quick grin in return.

"You will be paid full wages, of course," Phryne confirmed, "although the first week's will be reduced by the cost of one small pane of glass."

Finally – finally! – she'd managed to startle Lin Chung out of his inscrutable expression. He turned on Soo, but Phryne stayed him with a gesture.

"You said yourself, Lin – Soo and I share a love of beautiful things. It would be very hard to watch something such a lovely piece of Chinese history be lost to someone like me, I expect."

"It was not that," came a soft voice. Soo had decided to speak for herself. "I wanted to get away from grandmother, and I thought the vase might help me do so. I would like to work for you, Miss." Her eyes lit up with mischief. "And I promise I will not to try to steal anything else."

"In that case, I can offer an almost categorical assurance that no member of the household will shoot at you again," replied Phryne dryly. "Or at least," she qualified with typical honesty and after a moment's reflection, "not deliberately." She set down her glass and reached her hand out to shake the girl's own.

"Come back tomorrow at midday, by which time Mr Butler and I will have had the chance to prepare the ground. I'll see if I can get Mrs Collins to join us for lunch, in case there are any secrets she can impart as to Keeping Miss Fisher's Wardrobe Under Control." Then she turned to the uncle.

"Lin, a word about the vase. Here's what I need you to do."

The explanations were swift but succinct, and Lin undertook to engineer the resolution of the vase's fortunes with the See Yup Temple trustees as painlessly as possible. Then the Lins took their leave, and Phryne settled down pensively to a solitary supper.

The Inspector's place was laid at the table, but the Inspector remained consistently absent.


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The Inspector who walked in through the door of 221B The Esplanade later that night was scarcely recognisable as the weary but dutiful policemen who'd left the house that morning. His tie was hanging loosely, and his hat was crumpled in one hand. His hair was loosed from its usual slicked-back tidiness and he was repeatedly and ineffectually dabbing at his lower lip with a bloodstained handkerchief.

Phryne, on first sight of him, rushed to help but was fended off with a gesture; he edged out of his raincoat and placed it and the mangled hat on the stand by the front door. Mr Butler would doubtless have a fit when he saw the state of them.

"Jack, let me at least get you a drink." He had collapsed into an armchair, so she bustled with glass and single malt, pressing the result into his hand. He took a hefty slug that showed no respect whatsoever for the distiller's art, and sucked in air through his teeth at the shock to his palate and the cut on his lip.

"Can I get you something to eat? Mr B left some sandwiches in case you were hungry."

"No, it's fine, please don't fuss," he said, head back, eyes closed.

She knelt beside him and took his free hand. "I'm not fussing, Jack dear, I'm trying to make sure you don't collapse on the way up the stairs."

It was a feeble joke and it failed to raise a smile. Instead, he sat up, drained the rest of his whisky and extracted his hand from hers.

"I need to go and check that the doors and windows are locked."

"Really, Jack, there's no need. There's no need for you to do anything but come to bed."

"But we still haven't found out who broke into the house."

"Oh, no, that's fine. The intruder was Lin Soo, Lin Chung's niece, and she's going to be my new maid. I'm sorry, I meant to tell you."

"You … meant to tell me." He dropped his head into his hands, eyes closed, wishing to be anywhere but there. "I suppose I should be grateful that you thought of me."

"Jack."

He looked up at her, quite beaten. He loved her; but at that moment, he was out of resources.

"There's something else I've been meaning to tell you."

He rested his head on one hand, eyes covered, and waited. There wasn't much she could say that would lift him out of what wasn't so much a Slough, more an Abyss of Despond.

"It's more than two months since I last had the curse, and the martini I poured myself tonight tasted like paint stripper. I think all that practice has finally paid off, darling. Sleeplessness might be something we have to get used to. We're going to have to learn to handle it better. I'm sorry too. And I _do_ love you, Jack."

Apart, possibly, from that. She found herself dragged from her position on the floor onto his lap.

After a little while, she had to tap him on the shoulder and squeak that oxygen was probably useful; so he relaxed his crushing grip a little and made do with kissing her.

Quite a long time after that, she drew back and reminded him that it was Past His Bedtime.

He agreed, and lifted her, giggling, into his arms to carry her up the stairs.


End file.
